Corruption
by xheartmehorrid
Summary: [r&j] Shortpiece. Benvolio discovers himself wanting claim over his cousin Romeo.


_**Corruption**_

I'm no Shakespeare.

Disclaim'd.

I was, completely, drenched in love. Its wings bade me walk lightly, as if upon castles of the air. Good love, kind love, gentle love! Bittersweet love stung with sadness; heart to be burdened, but so light. I dreamt of red lips, dark eyes, and sweet curls; lean and smooth skin and broad shoulders, 'stead of sinful curves, and buds of ripe and swollen flesh; yes, and a dreamer, a lover, and a poet fair: I dreamt of Romeo Montague. My cousin and my kinsman - a friend, close to my heart - and closer now that I loved him in ways, Prince Escalus have his way with us, I should be rightly executed for.

But love is a cruel mistress.

I drifted from one public haunt to yet another, lips murmuring of unspoken songs, and eyes a'drift, daydreaming fondly things of which I hoped and for which I longed, but knew could never be.

Mercutio approached me in the market square, his swagger buoyant and his face lit up specifically.

"Good friend, Benvolio," he exclaimed cheerfully, "Queen Mab hath been with me to-night!" Grinning a bit wistfully, he slapped my back, and went on:

"With lovers' dreams the fairy's midwife came, and Cupid's blind amorous shaft, infected in me and let fly, that same love the curse'd burden of your cuz, Romeo, so often," and: "But it should be so; seeing as that I have found myself fallen in fact for our friend, and your kinsman, that fair lover, Romeo."

I snapped.

Mad with jealousy and, I warrant, obsession was I, upon hearing these words from Mercutio's own lips, that I simply could not remain myself. First, the love of Rosaline, too chaste to ever be requited him, and then, entirely senseless infatuation with the only young daughter of Lord Capulet's - that fair, bewitching Juliet, for love of whom he almost had his dear heart broken, and head lopped off by Tybalt; so nearly slain, and love of her made him effeminate, if not more grievous than that previous love of Rosaline. And now, this? I cried, outspokenly, "What treachery is this?"

"Peace, man," He said, "Why spring to such choler in an instant? I would gladly explain myself in two."

I, rapier drawn and backing steps away from him, cut through the air, and spoke: "Come at me, you black heart, you villain; Judas!"

He raised up both his hands, smile still swiftly touch'd the corners of his lips. A fight, he was always ready to leap to, with weapon drawn, but not a fight between comrades - or comrades once - it seemed. "Go hence," he said, friendly, "and let your senses cool."

"Saucy Mercutio," I sneered, "Why dost thou not jest? Where is thy witty humour gone?" And then, waving that weapon drawn, "You coward, foe, come at me. What word had you used before? Oh yes, sir: immortal passado, the hai, punto reverso, a duellist! So readily you fought before, and now in that same manner, have at me. Look upon thy death."

"Should bloody death come in the form of a friend and companion driven mad? Zounds, good Benvolio, good man, peace!" He exclaimed, "I will not draw arms against you!"

Face flushed madly with my outrage, I grudgingly sheathed the weapon drawn, and warned: "Lay you one hand upon my cousin Romeo's fair head, and know that by witness of all the gods in heaven and, even, the Prince himself, that I will surely be thy death; and by my hand, you surely slain."

Then I went forth in vehemence, and he stared after, gaping openly at my stiff back, as though I'd already struck his heart with a most wicked blow.

I came to my Uncle and his Lady's house that same night, and was warmly received. Lord Montague, with broad hand upon my shoulder firmly placed, smiled kindly as the scullery-maids and kitchen knaves and the Lady Montague's nurses scattered all about, preparing the table as the hour dawned by which we'd sup. "My boy," he said, in his old, bellowing voice: "How handsomely you've grown! Tell me, should we be expecting in-laws any time within the year?" And smilingly added, "Any maid which you've been courting recently? You're well and old enough, now, ay?"

I answered, as if it were any other conversation:

"I'd seen that fair maid, Helena, of Mercutio's line, and thought her lovely, no other being by, but then, her fan replaced by waving hand - to fend off the heat, ay - saw that the fan she carried was indeed the fairer face."

He laughed. "So it is true, then; young men love not with their hearts, but with their eyes."

The Lady Montague entered in her dinner gown.

"Husband, have you seen our son Romeo lurking about anywheres? I fear that he hasn't come home to-night." And then, with nervous flittering smile, "Ay, me; I did not see you there, Benvolio."

My uncle, turning to his wife, answered, "Yes, Romeo hath journeyed home to-night; and looked to be himself, as well, and high in spirits; but then did he go straight away up to his room, and curtains drawn, and candles lit, to again create that familiar façade of eternal night; and, pausing by his door a breath, did hear his quill a'scratching as he write."

"That Romeo," she sighed, "a poet, indeed! And a hopeless romantic, I fear."

Interjecting politely - seeing as, of course, Romeo was my main priority, and expressly my first and foremost reason for being at my Uncle's place - I offered, "Why don't I go up and bring him down?" They agreed that it would be a good idea to bring him down, and so I ascended to his room. Rapping softly on the door, I waited, and in a breath, he bid me, "Come in."

The candles were indeed lit, and curtains pulled. The silk about his bed was drawn and ink smeared a bit across one lacey cuff, from leaning laboriously over his writing-desk I supposed, and weight supplied on his lean arm; elbow pinned to the parchment white. Upon seeing it was I, he sat up and clearly brightened. My heart nearly thrilled inside my chest at this, before I remembered Mercutio and talk of their affairs, and darkness heavily replaced itself at heart again.

"Cuz," he said, in that soft voice he carried, and concerned: "You look a slight pale. Are you ill?" And then, "I was not quite expecting you; sit down."

I did.

"Romeo, god den. Good lord; This room is kept so dark! The sad labors of love, again? Which woman is it now with whom you are so out of favor?"

Even being it a jest, he sighed - not unhappily - and pink dappled the roses of his cheeks, in a lover's dreamy way. "In a word, no," he answered most wistfully, "in love, perhaps, yes; but with a maid, I say, no. Then again, you know me well."

"Who is it then, do sigh and tell me, that now makes Romeo's hours fly so shortly by, and his cheeks so pink?" I pried, though I already knew. He jested halfheartedly, "Pink for a flower," with a wave of his fair hand, and then, upon one elbow leaning, offered, "Oh, but cuz, I dare not tell thee of whom I am so dreadfully enamored; in fact, it is a love of which I fear you'd disapprove."

"Even me?" I questioned, and he replied, "Ay, good man, flesh of my flesh, and dear companion, even you."

Shortly, he added, "Is the night's meal prepared, and you come up to bring me down? I suspect my father is ready to have me. Oh, but time escapes me! Gentle Benvolio, without your presence here, I fear, I would have ne'er known even that it was night, or day, for both now in mine eyes seem so lovingly bright!"

"Spoken true from a lover's lips," Said I, just a tad bitterly, and with that, we went down.

The evening meal was no grand thing. Conversation went on about snatches of this and that, words really of the air and nothing of any more substance. Of gossiping and public affair, of trivial matters. I kept my eye, mostly, on Romeo. He barely ate, and only played and picked at his, which grew chill quickly, leaning one pristine cheek upon one hand and looking so adoring at nothing particular that I thought my heart would wrench so tightly in my breast as to just burst.

Oh, did I feel bitterer and bitterer the more I looked on him! And yet, I played my countenance well and kept my words pleasant and articulate, if not especially witty, for no matter the burden of other things weighing upon my mind, no one should know the matter of them until too late; which, I delighted, would be sooner than dear Romeo and his friend-turned-lover dare suspect.

When he excused himself from the table at last and the servant-maids came 'round to clear the plates - my Uncle and the Lady Montague off to bed themselves - I asked to come up for a while, and he agreed.

As soon as the door was shut and he had turned, I pounced.

"I know about the affair taking place between yourself and our good friend, Mercutio," I snapped, "And I think you both swine for it! And for it, villains, once more, treacherers! What say you to _that_?"

He gasped, dark, gentle eyes wide and a'frighted, and voice quivering as his hands shook; and he, looking so fearful, stammered softly, "I know not of what thou sp-speaks't. . ." and, unconsciously, his posture cowering. I sneered, and scowled.

"Romeo, I'll say it once: it is too late for lies."

Approaching him, he moved away. Oh, the boy had great intuition! "Is it a man's touch that you sought so long, cuz?" I asked, darkly, and bound his wrists above him with my own greater hands, more sinister of face and heart than e'er I had been.

"Well, now, friend," I breathed lowly and bitterly against him, "_You shall have it_," and pressed him down. I knew then, at that moment, lust in its most monstrous form.

He whispered, "no". He backed himself against the wall, face flushed pale like a madman's, sweating and sallow; his chest heaving in great droughts of stifled breath. "No," he whispered quickly, though his pleas and warnings were in vain, for darkly I approached him and so darkly did I encompass him, and swallowed his steadily rising heartbeat through the deceitful red cavern of his mouth, which was swoll with dry tongue. Like poison, he would deny me. Thrill and trill were flutters in his panicked heart, rising swiftly against me; His dark eyes mad; ravaged as by mine own hand!

But would I dare betray the love of a cousin, my kin? Blood not so distantly separate from my own? I whispered sorely on his cheek, and felt him fluster. How could I, so cursed be, but to take that tonight which never should be mine, was never meant to be?

Darkly I came, and darkly I will linger, the fondest haunt of his tormented soul.

May he be good enough to forgive this, what I have done to him, my Romeo.

* * *

/end 


End file.
